


Through Fogged Glass

by knittyknicker



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Attempted Rape, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittyknicker/pseuds/knittyknicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your reason for belonging disappears, the journey back is often stranger than you expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shot glasses and cheap shots

"Hey. Didja know the serum kept me from gettin' drunk an now thas gone I got drunk. Drrunnnk. Hasum drinks."

Bruce wasn't sure that laughing at your de-serumed drunken friend was the right thing to do, but it definitely seemed like the most likely. Grabbing Steve as he slumped forward, Bruce pulled him gently into his chest. "JARVIS, can you turn the heat up a few degrees and turn on the hall light. I seem to have my hands full."

"Certainly sir. Would you like me to contact the rest of the Avengers and inform them of the Captain's return?" 

"Yeah. I'm gonna try getting some water into him before he passes out." 

Manhandling Steve from his position slumped against his chest, the doctor forces himself to bite back a curse when he sees Steve's face. Someone had beaten the ever-loving piss out of the slender man. Steve smiles sloppily through swollen lips, wincing a bit as the split in the corner reopened, spilling blood down his chin.

"I know tha’ look. Bucky ussa look like that a lot. Said I was courtin’ brain damage, butme, I’da tell him pfftt, I'm little but I can take a beating. I shoul’ probly get ussa being such a little guy again. Since no one seemsa know howta fix me."

And just like that Steve's mood swings from silly to somber. They are on day six after Steve's transformation and the soldier’s eternal optimism seemed to be flagging. They hadn't figured out what the hell Steve had been hit with and they couldn't return him to normal until they did. At first, they had been confident that it would be a quick fix and then everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be. So far, it hadn’t and if even _Steve ___is beginning to lose faith, god only knows what they’ll do.

Bruce sighs and scoops Steve up. 

"Yeah, well, we'll figure it out. And until we do you'll run logistics from the tower. You're still a part of the team." His words received no acknowledgment as Steve chooses then to finally pass out. Bruce sighs again and hoists Steve against his chest bridal style before carrying him to his lab.

~~~

Tony strips off his armor before taking the elevator up to their living room.

"What happened to him? All JARVIS said was that Steve had made it back to the tower."

"He figured out that he could get drunk."

"Seriously? Steve Rogers, Mr. _‘I am the epitome of moderation and restraint’ ___got drunk? Priceless. Of course I missed it."

"That isn't all. I'm guessing he got into a fight. Came in beat to hell. He ended up with three broken fingers, a truly impressive black eye and a handful of broken ribs. That's just what I found while getting him cleaned up. No internal bleeding as far as I could tell but his torso is gonna be pretty colorful for a while. There may be more damage, but I couldn't get him to the medical suite alone. We'll run him through when he wakes up."

Tony doesn't know what surprises him more, the idea of Cap in a bar fight or the severity of his injuries. It really brings home just how much Project Rebirth had changed Steve's life.

As Bruce wraps up his description of the injuries, Clint and Natasha walk in. 

"Who are we running through?" Clint asks.

"Cap needs x-rays in the morning. He decided to take up bar fighting." Tony couldn't help but smile at the thought of little Steve going toe to toe in a bar. While being drunk for the very first time. Alone. 

Suddenly, the scenario is a lot less humorous. Especially when Tony remembers just how hurt Steve is. Natasha seems to be thinking the same thing and Tony wonders if a visit to their local watering hole wasn't in order. 

Clearing his throat, Bruce stands from his seat at the table. “ I’m going to bed. Someone needs to check on him every two hours, and I’d appreciate it if one of you could fill Thor in when he gets back.” With that, Bruce leaves the room, staggering a little as his body tries to remain upright long enough to get him into bed. Tony acknowledges that everyone on the team is running themselves ragged either researching or trying to cover the hole left by Captain America’s absence. 

Tony yawns again, moving toward the coffee pot. He’d take the first shift and let the other three work out the rest of the night. 

~~~ 

Tony checks in on Steve, making sure all of the wraps are still in place and checking his abdomen for firmness like Bruce instructed. When Steve’s stomach depresses easily under his fingertips, Tony breaths a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about. After reporting his findings back to the kitchen, he hauls himself to bed where he passes out without stripping off a single piece of clothing.


	2. Hangovers and hangups

The next morning, Steve finally drags himself into the kitchen. His head feels like it’s been stomped on by angry elephants and his mouth tastes as though something small and furry had crawled into it and died. If this is the aftermath of alcohol, Steve wonders why the hell people ever drink. His head pounds as he slumps over the table, strongly considering the probability of convincing Clint or Tasha to just end him and the misery he brought upon himself by trying to solve his woes with alcohol. 

A quiet tap next to his face is enough to make him flinch and open his eyes. Natasha slides the glass of water closer to him before saying gently, "The water will help, but Bruce says no pain killers until we know you're not nursing any injuries we don't know about."

Steve sips at the water for a minute before the throb of his broken fingers forces him to set the glass down. He lays his head on the table, enjoying the feeling of cool wood against his battered face. Something tentatively prods his lips and he decides that it is a straw, taking it into his mouth and drinking some more water. As he swallows, he feels Natasha slide slim fingers through his hair, raking his scalp gently with her fingernails. The sensation is enough that Steve can feel himself slipping back toward sleep. 

The gurgle of an empty glass snaps him back to wakefulness and the fingers in his hair still before sliding down to rub at his back. 

"Come on Steve, we'll get you scanned then you can have some medicine and crawl back into bed." With that, Natasha hauls Steve up and he is reminded again just how frail he is compared to the rest of his team. He's half tempted to let his melancholy pull him under again but that's what got him in trouble in the first place. 

Bruce gets him checked pretty quickly and finds two more cracked ribs. Ordering Steve to bed, he hands him a bottle of pills for the pain and suggests he take it easy for the next six weeks to give his ribs a chance to heal completely. He also reminds Steve to take deep breaths or cough at least once an hour to prevent pneumonia from becoming an issue.

Steve swallows the first pill dry and stiffly makes his way back to his room. Closing the door behind him, he shuffles to his closet where he strips off his t-shirt and sleep pants before turning to climb into bed. From the corner of his eye, he catches his reflection in the mirror over the dresser and freezes at just how _wrong ___he looks.

Before the serum, every time Steve looked in the mirror he saw a stranger looking back. Logically he knew it had to be him, but in his heart, he knew it wasn’t quite right. It wasn't until the serum and its benefits that Steve finally felt comfortable in his own skin. 

Now, after waking up in a world he is only starting to understand, even his own body has betrayed him, leaving him feeling totally adrift. The fact that weeks of research and investigation had yet to figure out how to get him back to normal was enough to crush even his innate optimism. 

Steve blamed the drugs in his system for the first tear that runs down his face, but the ones that follow are harder to rationalize away. Choking back a sob, Steve misses the click of his door opening. Strong arms gather him up, folding him into a warm body that smells like leather, resin, and the laundry soap that smells like sugar cookies. Raising his head, Steve realizes that Clint is the one wrapped around him, saying nothing, but providing warmth and support as Steve falls apart. Finally, his sobs taper off into shaky breaths and a few hiccups. 

"I just lost twenty bucks to Stark. I bet him you'd be back to normal before you fell apart."

"Back to normal. You know, _this ___is normal. I was a scrawny, weak waste of skin before the serum made me worth something. Now that that's gone, how long until SHIELD chucks me out? Then what? Back to being a runty art student scrabbling to make ends meet?"

"Uh, no. SHIELD isn't going to force you out. Even if you never get back what you had, they’d keep you around.”

“I won’t take pity.”

“Work with me here. I’m not talking about pity, man. Pure humans are capable of keeping up with super humans, you know.”

The slight reproof in Clint’s voice makes Steve realize just how much of a jackass he’s being, wallowing in self pity and accomplishing nothing. Steve can’t help but think his mom would be ashamed. 

“I’m sorry, Clint. I know they are, but I can’t be like you even if I worked at it for a lifetime. All I have left is my brain and my memories.”

“Well yeah, but that still puts you ahead of a whole ton of other people who couldn’t figure out a workable battle plan with a how to guide and a few dozen hints.” Here, Clint pivots, keeping Steve in his arms as he shuffles Steve around, back to chest. 

“You know, even like this, you’ve still got a lot going for you.”

Steve’s scoff is loud and Clint frowns. “It’s true.” Lifting one of Steve’s slender hands in his own, he turns it over, speaking almost absently.

“You have amazing hands, and a talented brain to control them.” His finger slide up Steve's arm, pausing at his shoulders. “Narrow shoulders, yes, but strong enough to bear the burden if you share it with the rest of your team.” His fingers are gentle, gliding up the tendons of Steve’s neck as he leans in, smile clear in his voice, “ And you kept your looks, so hey, there’s always that.”

Steve shrugs away from Clint, planting his palms flat on the dresser a he slumps forward, breaking eye contact. “Clint, how can you want _this_? I’m nothing now. How could you want to keep...” His voice tapers off, insure if he meant to say _touching me_ or _doing this_ or something else. 

Clint sighs, carefully pulling the smaller man, and wow that’s still new, against him again.

“I’ll keep you until you tell me to go.” He catches Steve’s eyes in the mirror, “When this started, I wanted the body; I won’t lie. But now? I want the man. The body is just part of the deal.”

Clint presses his lips against the side of Steve’s throat, sealing in his words as Steve watches. Clint smiles at him, before stepping back. 

“Take a nap, and later if you feel better, come to the range with me. I’ll rig up somewhere for you to rest, and once you’re healed up, I’ll teach you to shoot. ‘tasha can handle firearms training and Thor can help you build up stamina. Bruce can figure out a regimen to keep your breathing under control and I’m also willing to bet that Tony’s already got some sort of armor in the works for you.” 

Steve doesn’t speak, watching his bare toes dig into the carpet under his feet. Clint tips his face up, and this time his face is serious and a little bit sad.

“Come on Cap; You may not be the team’s muscle anymore, but you’ll always be our heart.”

Leaving Steve to ponder his words, Clint slips from the room, the only thing marking his passing the sound of the door’s quiet click.


	3. Dinners and deadlines

Steve sleeps through the next two doses of medication and when he wakes up, his ribs hurt bad enough that he has trouble catching his breath. He flails for a few moments before trying to remember how he got through his asthma attacks. Carefully rolling to his side, he pushes a pillow against his stomach and tips his face back to look at the grain of his headboard. 

Trying to breathe deeply makes his chest burn, but the shallow breaths make the panic flare. Steve works to balance the opposing stressors, inhaling for a two count before exhaling for a two count. The repetition calms the clamoring in his head and slowly, his lungs loosen and the fuzzy feeling recedes. 

Finally, finally, he feels like he may be able to pull himself out of bed before shuffling to the bathroom and swallowing another pill. For a few moments, he stays hunched over the sink, wondering if he should go back to bed. An angry growl from his midsection makes him change his mind and he pulls his t-shirt and track bottoms on slowly, being extra careful not to jar his ribs and bring back the fish out of water feeling from earlier.

~~~

In the hallway, the smells coming from the kitchen make his mouth water, and he prays that he’ll be able to eat something and keep it down, since his appetite has suffered along with his strength and endurance. 

The kitchen table is loaded down with food to the point that plates no longer fit and the various team members stand holding their plates.

“Captain! Join us in our meal. Would you have me gather selections of food for you?”

“Yes, please.” The others look pleased at his answer and Thor walks him around the table, filling a plate with servings from several different dishes.

“It is well that you have joined us. I have secured for you a feast that would surely make my father weep. With many more meals like this and the encouragement of your stout heart, you will soon be returned to your former glory, and until you are ready, you can depend on us to care for you as surely you would care for us.”

Steve is just a little overwhelmed by the sentiments Thor offers up, choking out a “thanks” as the others nod in agreement. 

“Come, we must eat in the living room as this table was smaller than I was expecting.”

~~~

While they eat, an alert sounds, and Tony pulls up the message on his tablet.

“Hey, apparently SHIELD figured out what happened. Remember that battle where everyone got doused with that nasty shit that knocked us out? The eggheads in the lab finally figured out what it does.”

He stops speaking and the rest of the Avengers wait for him to continue speaking. Clint prompts him with an “and,” when he seems to forget that the others are even there. 

“Wha? Oh, right. Anyway, apparently, the stuff works as a sedative when it comes into contact with normal metabolic processes, retarding them enough to cause unconsciousness. Unfortunately for the Captain here, there was no way of knowing how it would interact with the Steve’s altered metabolism. Apparently it just neutralized the serum temporarily. According to their results, Steve’s condition should correct itself as soon as the chemical is purged from his system.”

“Well, how long will that take then?”

“Oh.” Tony goes silent again. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and serious and Steve has a bad feeling. “Based on your bloodwork and their best guess, -which is all we have to go from considering they’ve never been able to figure out why you ended up as, well, you- they’re saying it’ll be a minimum of three months, possibly as much as a year.”

Bruce leans over and snags the tablet from Tony’s hands as Steve tries to take a deep breath. Clint’s hand is warm where it presses against his back, but all Steve feels is cold. Worst case scenario; Trapped like this for a year. He’ll be fine. Not great, but doable. He’ll be fine. The team supports him. SHIELD will let him stay. He’ll be fine. He forces himself to feel confident, but he doesn’t feel hungry any more.


	4. Pneumonia and new beginnings

Two weeks pass. Steve’s ribs heal, but he can’t believe how much the process hurts and he’s depressed by how long it’s taking. His breathing is still iffy, though he hasn’t had any full blown attacks since that first morning, so he avoids telling Bruce. He doesn’t want the team to think they need to coddle him any more than they do. 

The Avengers are out, mopping up at the end of another battle that Steve misses, and he mopes around the house feeling achy and lethargic. He’s shivering again, so he asks JARVIS to push the heat up a few more degrees as he settles on the couch with a blanket. Tiredly, he starts a recording of How It’s Made, but he’s asleep before the opening is finished. 

~~~

“Jesus, Stark. It’s a sauna in here, why did you leave the heat up so high?”

“I didn’t. I haven’t messed with environmental since before we left. Steve must have set it before he went to bed.”

“Well I’m turning it down. It’s not the middle of winter for Christ sake. JARVIS, can you reset the heat to the temperature it was when normal people were still here?”

“Certainly, Mr. Barton, but to which ‘normal people’ are you referring?”

Natasha snickers as she shoves him to the side and Clint grumbles about snarky AI and their insane creators as he walks down the hallway. He thinks about checking on Steve before heading to bed like the rest of the team, though it’s likely that Tony’s in his lab, and fuck that, he’ll let Steve handle that duty before he realizes that he’s still thinking of ‘old’ Steve, who was perfectly capable of dragging Tony around, and not ‘new’ Steve, and he has got to quit doing that. 

It kills Clint every time he leans in to kiss him and Steve flinches away, or the way he keeps himself covered all the time, or the way he avoids hanging out with the others or the way that he hasn’t spent the night with Steve in nearly a month. He’s surprised that it isn’t even the sex he misses so much as the closeness of falling asleep wrapped around each other, and he shakes his head, pulling his hand back from where it hovers above the doorknob of Steve’s room.

He decides that he’d rather watch a little TV before he heads to bed and turns into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and snagging Natasha’s fancy chips from the basket on the counter. If she asks, he’s blaming Tony for eating them all. 

When he enters the living room, the TV is already on, and Clint sees a heap of blankets with a tousled blond head peaking out. The guide is pulled up, signaling that the recording had played itself out, and Clint rounds the couch quietly, reaching to pull the remote from Steve’s lax hand. 

He’s taken aback at how clammy his hand is and gently pulls the blanket away from Steve’s face to check on him. Steve’s skin is shiny with sweat and a sickly grey green. His breathing is labored and Clint can feel the heat rolling off of his forehead from a few inches away. Swearing under his breath again, Clint speaks,

“JARVIS, wake up Bruce and tell him Steve’s sick. Like really sick. Tell him to get in here and hurry.” 

~~~

Steve wakes slowly. His brain feels like it’s been wrapped in cotton batting and then run over by a tank. He’s starting to get concerned about how often he wakes up feeling like death warmed over lately and tries to remember if it was that way before.

“You’re an idiot, you know that? Bruce said that it’s lucky, _lucky ___that you passed out when you did. If I hadn’t found you, do you know what would have happened? Your lungs would have filled the rest of the way with fluid and you would have drowned.”

Steve realizes that the voice he’s hearing is Clint and can’t help the relief he feels at waking up to someone familiar instead of waking up in an a new place, alone, again. 

“You know the real ironic thing? You manage to survive a plane crash into the ocean and avoid drowning, but on the 42nd floor of a New York highrise, you come dangerously close to it. Fuck. Steve, man, I don’t know whether to kick you or hug you, you moron.”

He realizes that Clint thinks he still sleeping and it shakes him that Clint is concerned enough to let his attention slip so far. He opens his eyes, knowing he’s escaped the scolding he’s due for long enough. For a few more moments, Clint keeps his gaze focused on their hands, pressed together on the blanket. Steve wraps his fingers around the hand on top of his and Clint’s eyes snap up to meet his. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“I heard you, you know.”

“Hmm.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think I was so sick. I figured it was just a bug. Believe it or not, I used to get sick like this all the time.”

“Fuck, Steve. How did you even survive long enough to make it to the experiment in the first place?”

“I just did. I was little and sick, but I wasn’t weak. Ever since this happened, you’ve all been treating me with kid gloves and it’s making me crazy. You have to trust me to know my limits.”

“Because that worked so well this time?”

“Damnit, Clint. Listen to me. I know what I can do. I wish you would trust me enough to let me show you that.”

Clint sighs, nodding his head. “Fine, I’ll tell the others, but you gotta work with us too. Don’t let it get this bad. If you need help ask. For our part, we’ll try not to baby you.”

“Sounds good.”


	5. Apologies and approaches

They keep him hospitalized for a week. Bruce tells Steve it’s to make sure he finished his course of antibiotics and Steve is grateful for it since the drugs make him feel like puking up everything he’s ever even thought about eating. Finally, the last dose is taken , and he’s released the next morning. 

When he makes it into the house, the team is waiting for him in the living room. Steve sits, feeling relieved that his ribs are finally feeling better, though he acknowledges that the coughing from his pneumonia and the vomiting probably set him back a bit. 

Thor hands over the remote and Steve clicks off the TV before turning to his teammates.

“Well, who’s going to start?”

Tony waves a careless looking hand and speaks, “You know, we had no idea you were struggling so hard until Clint told us what you said in the hospital. I know you have your issues and far be it for me to bag on anyone for doing it, but you have to tell us things like this. I know that you’re all about stoic and carrying on and all of that wartime patriotism stiff upper lip business, but we can’t be a team if you’re always shutting us out.” 

Tony nods decisively, before shooting a look in Steve’s direction. “Once you’re healed, I’ll need you in my lab. The prototype armor for you is almost ready to be fitted.”

The sound of Clint laughing draws all eyes to the archer and he points. “Did I tell you?”

Natasha is next. 

“I should have been more aware of what you were struggling with. I didn’t see you as you are now because I didn’t think to shift my perception. And for that, I should be ashamed. I will agree to be more mindful of what I am doing so you don’t feel like I am coddling you. However, you should be aware that I handled the issue you had at the bar. It took a while to find him, but he now understands the depth of his mistake. For that I will not apologize.”

Thor speaks, the jovial boom of his voice subdued. 

“It is difficult for me to reconcile the form you no wear with the way I expect to see you. I shall try not to treat you as though you are tiny and breakable, and remember that you retain the heart of a warrior, even as your form belies it.”

Bruce says nothing, having blown through most of his frustration with Steve during the car ride on the way home from the hospital.The room stays silent a moment longer and then Clint stands, clapping a hand to Steve’s shoulder.

“So quit being a dumbass and accept that we work _together ___. Now, Who’s turn is it to cook?”

~~~

The second and third months of Steve’s transformation rolls by quickly and Steve is surprised by how little time he has to dwell on things. 

His ribs heal and slowly, after a break of nearly ten weeks, Bruce allows him to begin spending time in the gym again, focusing on building his strength and endurance. He struggles to complete even a full mile without reaching for the inhaler Bruce forces him to keep around, but he works through it. 

Natasha and Clint also get in on the act, dragging him to practice shooting and evasive tactics better suited to his smaller frame. Tony tries, but Steve just can’t figure out a way to make the armor workable, too uncomfortable at the feeling of being completely encased in metal to let the systems interact successfully. 

Bruce keeps him on a short tether, medically speaking, pulling him in every two week to run scans on his bones, his lungs and his blood, checking to make sure nothing is healing incorrectly, deforming in any way or otherwise making his job more difficult. The blood tests consistently show a reduction in the chemical that caused all of the trouble, and Bruce tentatively downgrades the length of time until it clears from a year to six plus months. 

Around the end of the third month, Steve finally feels as though he’s found his new niche on the team and he can’t help but think things are going pretty well.


	6. Battle lines and bad ideas

His first time out wipes his assumption away as quickly as he finds himself outclassed and pinned by one of AIM’s minions. Steve is glad for the anonymity of the SHIELD battle suit rather than his more distinctive uniform since it seems that AIM is still unaware of his mishap. Or maybe it’s just this guy. 

“Hmm, what’s a pretty little boy like you doing out here? Are they recruiting straight out of nursery school now? Ah, it’s good to see the mighty fall.” His chortles are annoying and his monologuing makes Steve long for his bigger body and the ability to throw his shield hard enough to shut someone up. 

Instead, he’s pinned, listening to some two bit villain wannabe spout inanities while the rest of his team handles the main attacking force rampaging through the financial district. His headset gone, Steve has no way of contacting the others for help and he’s starting to worry that he may have made a pretty huge error in wanting to be included in the battle. 

His worry turns to real fear when he realizes that the oily expression on the man’s face has slid from speculation to satisfaction. Whatever this guy wants, he’s decided that now is the time to take it. Pressing his weight down enough to force the air from Steve’s lungs is enough to ignite the fear in Steve and he thrashes, slamming his forehead into the man’s chin. Steve hears a muffled curse and then his vision is rocked as he feels a fist impact his cheek hard enough to drive his face across the pavement,tearing the skin and driving tiny bits of gravel into the raw flesh. 

The man takes advantage of Steve’s disorientation of flips him onto his belly, pressing on hand between his shoulder blades while the other fumbles at the suit. Steve thrashes until he feels the cool slide of metal cutting through the waist of his uniform, and he freezes, not wanting to end up with a knife in his kidney. 

“That’s right. I don’t need you whole to make a statement. Fuck it up, and you’ll go home in a box instead of just bloody.” Steve wants so badly to squirm free and run, but he can’t pinned and threatened and alone. 

Just as the last slice as his uniform gaping open, he hears the meaty thwock of an arrow hitting flesh and the man above his slumps, pressing his entire weight against Steve’s body, pushing him further into the pavement and impeding his breathing enough that Steve can feel the tightness building in his lungs. He gropes for his rescue inhaler, glad that Bruce insisted, even though he hasn’t had call to use it in weeks. 

He can feel his lips getting cold and tingly and he still can’t work his hand into the pocket he needs, growing panicky as his breathing worsened, creating a negative feedback loop that just builds as the seconds pass. 

Finally, he feels the weight pressing him down rolled away, but he’s so oxygen starved that his fingers won’t do what he wants and he lays there, desperate to get his body to respond. He feels himself rolled onto his back, and he sees a flash of red in the corner of his eye, but his vision is hazy and he’s so tired. Everything is muffled, like he’s underwater, and he smiles at that, pretty sure that Clint’s gonna be pissed at him for drowning on dry land.

~~~

Hawkeye reaches Steve just in time to see movement stop and he panics, thinking that he should have called for Iron Man to pick him up instead of taking the slower route to street level. He grabs the body and rolls it away from Steve, wincing as he hears the shaft of the arrow snap. He thinks randomly, that those arrows were designed to hold up against a significant amount of pressure and he can only imagine what all that weight did to Steve when he went limp. 

He sees Tony land, repulsors kicking up dust, before he’s right there, flipping up his face mask and calling for Bruce over the comms. Clint can hear all of this in his own comm, still buzzing in his ear, but he’s focused on Steve, watching the rapid, shallow rise and fall his chest. 

A stinging smack pulls him out of his stupor and he starts, watching as Natasha slips tiny fingers into the pocket of Steve’s tattered uniform. She pulls out a bent plastic tube and holds it , waiting for Tony to set Steve up in a semi seated position before tucking the mouthpiece between his lips and pressing it twice. Clint hears the medicine release, and waits, frozen, for Steve’s breathing to ease. 

Finally, after what feels like forever, but is probably only a minute, Steve’s breathing deepens and SHIELD medics show up to take over, one of them informing Tony that Bruce is still out while Hulk finishes up.

Clint feels his shoulders relax as Steve’s breathing goes slower and easier, so thankful that his teammates were there to pick up the pieces while he fell apart. They all have their moments and part of their bond is keeping each other’s secrets when necessary. Clint trusts them both enough not to tell anyone about how he choked. And if there are clear lines through the dust caking his face, Clint’s pretty sure they won’t tell anyone about that either.


	7. Misspoken and mistaken

Steve regains consciousness before the medics have a chance to load him onto a gurney. Clint watches as he shrugs off their recommendations and heads back to the tower with the rest of the team, voicing his hesitance to go back after the pneumonia visit. Clint is grateful to Steve for his honesty, but part of him wants to sling steve over his shoulder and make him go. Steve’s breathing is still ragged around the edges and Clint can’t get the image of purple fingernails and blue lips off the back of his eyelids no matter how hard he presses.

When Steve tries to shut the door in Clint’s face, his hand shoots out, stopping the door’s motion before he realizes his hand has moved at all.

“What, Clint? I just want to take a hot shower and sleep.”

Clint presses in, kissing Steve hard, all of his fear and surprise and relief pouring out of him in a kiss that's more confrontation than comfort. He doesn’t relent, and it’s only the stutter of Steve’s chest under his palm that has him drawing back, scared all over again. 

“I want you to go see Bruce.” Steve starts to shake his head and Clint speaks quickly, “Please. I don't want to let this go and come back later to find you worse off. I had to watch you in that alley. I watched it all and couldn’t get there without leaving someone else unprotected, and when I did get there it was to see you barely breathing. I froze, and someone could have died. _You_ could have died. You need to be alright, OK? _I_ need you to be alright. _Please?_ ”

It’s the second please that does it and Steve stares, finally seeing just how shaken the fight left him. He really does just want a shower and a nap, but he’s done enough pushing against being coddled for now. If this helps, Steve will go.

“Alright. Come with me?” When Clint takes his hand, it trembles against Steve’s palm. Steve doesn’t say anything, squeezing harder to still the tremors in silent apology.

~~~

"Well, there isn't anything severe but you're gonna be hurting for a while. That graze on your face bears watching, but I’m pretty sure they managed to get all the grit out.” Steve nods and Bruce turns to Clint. 

“Clint, stay with him for now. His breathing is still kind of rough and I'd prefer someone was around just in case. 

Steve doesn't look thrilled and Clint can't help the flare of hurt that hits him before he buries it under a layer of charm.

“Sure doc. C'mon. Lets go put on a movie or something.” 

“I said rest. I want him resting. Lay down at the very least.” 

Clint waves his hand.“Yeah, yeah. So we'll watch in the bedroom.”

Bruce shoots him a stern look. “None of that. He needs to rest, not strain his lungs further.”

Steve goes bright red and grabs Clint’s hand, towing the laughing archer down the hallway. The laughter feels good after the anxiety of earlier but it dwindles quickly once Clint realizes he’s the only one laughing.

“Aww, c'mon. It’s kinda funny.”

“It really isn't. You can’t just say stuff like that.”

Clint feels himself getting irritated, lack of sleep and months of being pushed away and fighting his way back bubbling under his skin.

“I didn’t say anything. Bruce implied, I thought it was funny and I laughed. Why is this such a big deal? They all know we're together. I’d bet they even know we're ‘sexually active’,” and though he doesn’t make the quotes, Steve can still hear them. “Why is it suddenly a crime that I want to be with you?”

“Because I'm not what you signed on for. I'm tiny and delicate and wimpy and breakable. I'm not that guy that can pick you up and pin you down and make you happy. I'm just some scrawny kid from Brooklyn. I can’t even keep _myself_ safe anymore.”

“You know, if anyone else talked about you like that I'd punch them in the face. Unfortunately, I can't do that to you, so--”

“Why? Because I'm too dainty?” Steve’s voice is hateful and Clint just snaps, pushed beyond endurance.

“No. Because I love you, you thick skulled idiot.” His chest is heaving, “There. It's out in the open.” He’s yelling and he makes an effort to lower his voice, the look on Steve’s face adding guilt to the bubbling mass of conflict boiling in his chest. “Goddamnit. I didn't want to do this like this.” 

Steve’s mouth drops open, stunned by the honesty he hears in Clint’s voice. 

“I...I’m sorry. I really thought you were--” 

“What? Using you? Sticking around for the convenient sex? That we haven’t had in _months_? Yeah, that’s totally it.” 

Clint turns and Steve’s heart plummets as he realizes just how badly he’s screwed up. 

“No--”

“What Steve? You’ve gotta give me something. I can’t keep doing this push me pull you stuff. I’m dying here.”

Clint falls silent and Steve rises up on tiptoe so he can tuck his face into the curve of Clint’s neck. They stand frozen in the silent room, both waiting for the other to make the next move, both too scared to make it.


	8. Reservations and revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the lag between updates. The guys were super uncooperative but I think I'm back on track now. For all of you that are still keeping an eye on the story, have some smut as a thank you, and for the new readers, enjoy as well.

Steve’s tired muscles are screaming at him, the stretch of his position just outside of his comfort zone. Sighing, Steve drops down, missing the warmth of Clint’s skin even as they continue to touch. Clint’s eyes are closed, and Steve speaks quietly, needing to know if there’s anything left for them to salvage from the disaster Steve’s made of what they had. 

“Stay?”

Clint doesn’t move, only the tension of his hands betraying the fact that he isn’t, in fact, sleeping on his feet. Finally, just as Steve’s heart is trying to crawl into his shoes, Clint opens his eyes exhaling hard before he speaks. 

“Yeah. Go shower. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Steve nods, glad that Clint is giving him the chance to fix things. “Sure. Whatever you want is fine. I’ll just...” 

“Sure.”

~~~

When Steve leaves the bathroom, his skin is pink where it isn’t swathed in the fabric of his overly large robe. It doesn’t fit his smaller frame, but it was a gift and the fabric is warm and comforting and Steve wants comfort, so he rolls back the sleeves and wraps the belt as tight as he can. Where the hem used to stop below his knees, it now stops just above his ankles and he has to take care not to catch his toes in the terry cloth and send himself tumbling. Once was plenty. It’s his preoccupation with not faceplanting that makes him miss the changes to his room, but when his hand hits empty air instead of the chair he’s expecting, he looks up.

The armchair he uses as an ersatz dresser is gone, replaced by a full length mirror that Steve’s never seen before. Clint is sitting on the bed, hands folded in his lap while he waits for Steve to ask. Apparently a raised eyebrow is enough and Clint stands, walking to Steve’s side.

“I want to do something and I need you to trust that I won’t do anything you don’t want. Tell me to stop if you’re genuinely unhappy about something, but please, let me try.”

Steve nods, pretty sure he knows where this is going, but willing to give this to him. Steve’s never backed down from anything before and he sure as hell isn’t going to start now. 

Clint reaches for the belt of his robe, unknotting the fabric before drawing it clear and running his hands between the overlapped front. Steve’s surprised at just how rough Clint’s calluses feel against the skin of his belly and he wonders if the sensitivity is a result of his smaller body or just being touch starved after months of denying himself the contact. 

He doesn’t ponder for long as Clint sweeps his hands up along the outside of his chest and over his shoulders, pushing the sleeves of the robe free and letting the fabric slide from his body to puddle on the carpet behind him, a dark stain that Steve can just see in the mirror from the corner of his eye. 

Clint’s hands return, cupping the jut of a shoulder blade in one warm broad palm to turn the smaller man around so he’s face to face with his own reflection.

“I’ve tried telling you just how I see you, but it wasn’t working. Now, I want to show you something. Keep your eyes open and try to see what I see when I look at you.”

Clint steps closer, the friction of his clothing strange against Steve’s bare skin. Clint bends slightly, tucking his chin against the curve of Steve’s shoulder, and Steve shivers at the feeling of warm breath on his neck.

“You’re sensitive like this. I know. I see you squirm when I touch you here,” a touch at his ribs, “or here,” his waist, “but especially here.” Clint drags his fingertips up Steve’s spine and Steve can’t help the way he bucks at the contact, the calluses just enough friction to ride the edge of too much as Clint traces the bumps of his vertebrae. 

Steve can feel the blood flush his skin as he goes completely hard, head spinning at the suddenness of his erection. 

“You look the same.” Steve’s gasp is loud as Clint drags one finger over Steve’s erection, “Still perfect and pink with that little bend to the left. " The scratch of Clint’s nail up the length of his dick feels unbearably good and Steve whines low in his throat as he presses up into the sensations.

"Eyes open, Steve."

Steve drags his lids up, completely unaware that he had shut them at all, and focuses on Clint’s face in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed and his pupils blown wide, leaving the barest ring of color visible. Steve's stomach swoops at the confirmation the Clint really means what he says about liking the way he looks. 

He can feel his muscles go lax in relief and he leans his body back, slotting his body into Clint’s and pressing together from shoulders to hips. The jut of Clint’s erection prods against the small of his back and his new understanding of Clint’s attraction has him pressing back even as he keeps his eyes locked with Clint’s in the mirror. 

After a few long moments of rubbing have Clint tightening his grip on Steve's hips, the larger man turns them both so they are chest to chest and standing in profile to the mirror. Clint fumbles his pants open and Steve bats his hands away to lift him from the constricting fabric. As Steve relearns how to touch him with smaller hands, Clint slides his hands around to Steves ass and, taking a cheek in each hand, lifts the smaller man and slots his cock into the cleft of Steve's ass. 

Clint is leaking enough to smooth the slide and the men rut against each other. Steve tucks his face into Clint's neck and Clint pushes at him with his chin. 

"Keep watching, Rogers."

Steve whines loudly, wanting to just ride the sensation, but Clint squeezes his hands and Steve watches them move in the mirror even as he feels the movement and bucks against the pressure. He can feel the burn of orgasm coiling in his stomach and he tenses, stunned by how his face looks in the mirror. In that momnt, he understands what Clint has been trying to make him see and he lets go, falling over the edge and tumbling down into the whiteness of orgasm, trusting that Clint will be there to catch him.

~~~

When Steve comes back to himself, he’s stretched out on the bed and the rough texture of terrycloth is sliding over his skin. Shakily pushing up onto one elbow, he reaches for Clint’s still open pants, but finds his hand stopped, wrapped in his archer’s larger fingers. 

Clint’s smile is rueful as he shakes his head. “Appreciated but not necessary.” 

Steve focuses on his crotch and feels his eyes pull wide as he sees the wet stain spread over the material. “I’m pretty sure this is where I say I told you so, but I won’t since I’m an awesome boyfriend like that.”

Steve bats a hand in Clint’s direction but smiles. “Stay.”

“Definitely.”


	9. Contingencies and crazypants

The following morning Steve walks into the kitchen to find the entire team minus Clint gathered around the table and Steve wonders how long they'd been waiting. Rather than his usual five o'clock wake up, Steve had stayed in bed, reluctant to leave the cozy nest of bedding he and Clint had built during the night. It was only when his bladder refused to let him stay any longer that he had gotten up and dressed. Now faced with the others, he thinks he should have stayed in bed anyway. 

He nods to his teammates but doesn't say anything, crossing to the coffee maker that makes him think of Buck Rogers and filling a mug. He still appreciates the novelty of having enough sugar to sweeten his coffee extravagantly and adds two heaping spoonfuls, keeping his eyes on his spoon as he crosses to the table and pulls out his chair. Once he's settled, he looks at the others and waits for someone to speak. Tony clears his throat opening his mouth a few times before slumping back. Bruce just spins his mug slowly and Thor works through a box of pop tarts, eyes darting from teammate to teammate. Natasha finally makes a sound reminiscent of an irritated cat and speaks.

"We do not think you should go out with us. We appreciate that you need to feel as though you are a part of the team and you still are but if something like yesterday were to happen again it is unlikely that it would not end just as badly. When you went down half of the team was effectively neutralized. This is a problem."

The rest of the team look as though they are bracing for Steve's explosion and he sips his coffee, setting the mug down with a quiet click. "I know."

"Don't say no. I set up a system that lets you see everything the rest of us are seeing and taps into the city's Cctv network. You can coordinate from here and as the relays are even faster than you could process on sight so really you'd be better off and we could work more quickly. Plus Bruce and I figured out a way to rig a headset that will expand with him when he hulks out so it doesn't leave a blind spot. It's this new material infused with carbon tubes for rigidity and flexibility at the same time and the polymer allows it to stretch to more than 400% its original dimensions without material failure although admittedly we only tested in the lab since Bruce refused to hulk out here and we never had a chance to grab it when we got called to assemble so--"

"Tony... Tony.... Tony! I said _I know_ , not no." 

"Oh."

"Yeah. I knew yesterday that I couldn't do that again. If you hadn't cornered me this morning I would have brought it up at the next meeting."

A warm palm cups the back of his neck and Steve hums quietly, enjoying the contact. Clint’s other hand wraps around to snag his coffee mug and he holds on , not wanting Clint to get in the habit of stealing his mug but also not really wanting a lap full of hot coffee either. The rest of the team watches their interactions avidly, Tony with a bemused smirk, Natasha with a customary blank look that telegraphs her contentment if you really, really know her well, Bruce with his usual zen calm and Thor grinning broadly, glad to see the two of them together as they should be. Eventually, Steve and Clint realize the kitchen has gone silent and they look away from their play wrestling although Clint takes the momentary breaking of Steve’s concentration to steal his mug and dance away. Steve clears his throat twice before asking, “Anything else on the agenda for today?”

Tony claps his hands together, rubbing them as he grins at Steve. "Let’s get you set up. You'll like it."

~~~ 

Steve does not like it. The displays are far from intuitive and the multiple visual inputs have his stomach churning. For a week straight, the two practically live in the control room as they test and tweak the set up until it’s something Steve thinks will work. 

Clint drags Steve away each night and watches him eat before bundling him into the shower and then bed. They fall asleep tangled together and more often than not, Steve wakes up to find Clint sprawled across his chest. It's the best sleep he's had in ages. 

~~~

Their first field test is a minor invasion of what resemble purple fur covered toads and everything works perfectly, allowing Steve to direct the action from a distance without feeling cut off from his team. 

~~~

The second time is more serious, a coordinated attack on the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Stock Exchange and the New York Public Library. Given the disparity of the targets, the team is caught flat footed and Steve decides damage control is their best bet, sending Tony to secure the databases at the Stock Exchange while Thor and Bruce clear the Library and Natasha and Clint access the museum. Thor reports damage in the rare book vault, Natasha finds a collection of Victorian betrothal jewelry missing and Tony reports a breach of security that releases two hundred pounds of gold for immediate transport to Hungary.

When he finally puts it together, he barks out a request for all airport manifests, looking for a specific plane. He finds the flight plan leaving from LaGuardia and sends the team to JFK, willing to bet that Doom won't fly the stolen items out on his own plane regardless of his diplomatic immunity. 

He radioes the flight number to Tony and Clint, watching them locate the plane as it begins to speed down the runway. Swearing under his breath at the missed opportunity, he watches Thor raise Mjolnir and throw it forward, striking the plane’s wing hard enough to crumple the flaps and send the plane careening off the runway and into the sand bunkers.

As the plane grinds to a halt, He watches Tony launch himself into the air and tear the doors off, allowing Natasha and Clint to board the plane and take the flight crew into custody. They don't fight and Steve thinks they probably aren't involved directly though he tells the assassins to be sure everyone is secured. He'd hate to be proven wrong at the expense of one of his teammates. 

In the cargo area, they find the missing items crated together and stamped with the royal seal of Latveria. Even knowing there isn't anything they can do to Doom directly, the markings are still remarkably arrogant for a villain that is usually just a bit more subtle. Steve lets the team know that SHIELD is nearly there and gets an acknowledgment from Thor. 

By the time SHIELD arrives, Doom’s plane has reached international airspace and the team is sent home, although Fury warns them that Doom is likely to try again. He overhears Tony ask why Doom-patrol isn’t being handled by ‘that bastard Richards’ but doesn’t hear the answer, and while he may disagree with Tony’s personal feud with the other scientist, he can’t help the agreement he feels. He’s pretty sure Loki is enough villain for the Avengers thankyouverymuch. 

Steve waits until he sees everyone begin heading home before disconnecting from the system and rubbing at the pressure marks the headset leaves above his ears. Tony arrives with Natasha in tow and Thor shows up next. Clint and Bruce get back within seconds of one another and Steve is pleased to see Bruce in the same outfit he left in. 

Its always nice when Bruce doesn't have to go through the aftermath of hulking out. Plus the less paperwork the better. Even Steve occasionally flirts with the thought of ‘accidentally’ dropping a big pile in the shredder every now and again, and now that his eyes don’t have the benefit of the serum to keep them from getting strained, he dislikes it even more. 

Once the team is clean and gathered in the kitchen again, they go through their new debrief ritual, discussing the way the system works well and the ways it needs to be adjusted as well as speculating about what Doom had planned for the assortment of objects he attempted to steal. 

Tony’s suggestion (Because he’s a big ol’ ball of crazy) is a definite favorite, although Thor’s (he wishes to construct a golden jewel encrusted throne from which to plot) and Natasha’s (He plans to use the gold to make some sensational armor for his next portrait and use the jewels to support his deep love of Victorian cosplay). Bruce has a far more sober suggestion (Aerosolized gold bonded to some sort of toxin) that makes Steve reach for his phone and firing a text to Fury. Clint doesn’t offer his own suggestion, voting to co-opt Natasha’s and Steve doesn’t really care so long as he doesn’t manage to keep the stuff he liberates. 

Several hours later, the various Avengers finally part ways, and Steve and Clint are left in the empty kitchen, listening to the sound of humming appliances.

“So, how’s the set up working for you, really?”

“I get to help without putting anyone else in danger.”

“But...”

“But I still don’t feel like I’m really there with you. It’s just strange. I’m not used to it yet. “

“Chin up. Your last set of bloodwork showed the levels dropping faster and faster. I bet you’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

Steve sighs, but smiles at Clint. “How did you end up being the Pollyanna of our little band of misfits?”

Clint just shrugs. “Fuck if I know.”


	10. smart asses and sleep loss

That night, Steve wakes up to the feeling of every muscle in his leg cramping. The feeling is enough to have him crying out in agony as he reaches to grab the knotted flesh even as his body arches backward, and the back of his head collides with Clint’s face, ripping the archer from a solid sleep.

His cries are sufficiently alarmed to have JARVIS alerting Bruce to the difficulty in Captain Roger’s room. When Bruce slams through the door, he finds Clint kneeling over a clearly distraught Steve, completely indifferent to the blood rolling down his chin from what looks like a broken nose. 

“JARVIS triggered Steve’s med alert.”

“Oh, god. Bruce, what’s going on? Why won’t it relax?” Clint takes the cloth that Bruce hands him but rather than using it to stanch his bleeding nose, he uses it to wipes away the tears that stream over Steve’s face, one right after the other as he whimpers and sobs through the pain. Bruce stays quiet, readying a syringe and motioning for Clint to join him.

“Steve, I’m going to give you a muscle relaxant and we’re going to move you down to the infirmary. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s fairly clear that if we can't get your muscles to uncramp, they might end up breaking the bones in your leg. Clint, do me a favor and brace him. Steve, stick and a burn.”

With that warning, he plunged the needle in quickly, depressing the plunger before pulling the needle free and capping it. As one hand tucked it into the pocket of his pants, his other reached to prod at the muscles, following the spread of the drug as it flowed down Steve’s leg. After several long moments, Steve finally uncurled and sighed in relief as the awful pressure dissipated. 

Clint kept hold of his hand, letting Steve breath for a few moments before he carefully wiped his face with the edge of the sheet. 

“You alright now?”

“Yeah, I think so. I just woke up and my leg was on fire.” Steve seems to finally realize that there were others in the room and Bruce watches a blush spread up his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Nah, JARVIS called me when your vitals went nuts. Now, if you’re feeling OK, I’d like to make sure your idiot boyfriend over here doesn’t wreck any more sheets with his blood.”

Steve turns his face and gasps when he catches sight of lint. His entire lower face is covered in blood and Clint raises a hand to swipe at the mess. 

“No, don’t. You’ll knock the clots loose.”

Instead, Bruce grabs a couple of sterile wipes from his kit and tears them open, carefully cleaning away the half clotted blood to get a better idea of the damage. While he manipulates Clint’s face, Clint speaks, although Bruce is pretty sure it isn’t actually directed at him. 

“Boyfriend, eh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know we’ve been dating for a while now and it’s obviously pretty serious, but yeah. And I know, it sounds kind of childish, but can you see me introducing you to people as my lover? Gah, and partner wouldn't work since most would assume I’m talking about teammates and not _partners_ and--”

Bruce smirks as he listens to Steve’s babble, wondering if the soldier is even aware that he is babbling. He wonders if it’s a result of the medicine’s effect on his diminished frame or concern over the grisly appearance of Clint’s injury. Bruce finally takes pity on Steve, sure that blushing that dark can’t be comfortable. Clearing his throat, he nods at the men, 

“Let’s get him moved to the infirmary. I want to run the ultrasound over his legs and make sure there isn’t any damage we can’t see. I’d also like to take a few blood samples. This might be the result of your body trying to transition back. Clint,I also want to get an xray of your face and make sure there aren’t any fractures that I’m missing. Apparently the hardness of his head wasn’t a result of the serum.”

Clint helps Steve stand, slinging an arm behind his back before walking alongside him to the elevator.

Bruce lingers for a moment, picking up bloodied wipes and making sure he still has possession of the sharp before he follows the men, pulling the door closed behind him. 

~~~

Steve has blood drawn after the ultrasound reveals no further damage and once the samples re drawn, he swipes a few pills into a bottle before passing them to Clint. 

“Muscle relaxers. If it happens again, have him take one right away. Unfortunately, this is probably going to keep happening as his body looks like it’s hit a tipping point in regards to drug concentration. Now, you, go sit and put your head against the headrest.”

Steve watches through the window as Bruce positions Clint’s face and pushes the button, taking the x rays he needs. Once Clint is released, the two men sit together and Clint drags his fingers through Steve's hair while they wait.ruce walks out holding a transparency and slaps it against a wall. The light behind it reveals the skeletal image of Clint’s head and Steve can’t quite suppress the shiver that rolls down his back. He never did like x rays. They were just creepy. 

“Well, it looks like you’ll live to be a pretty boy another day. No breaks, but you’re probably going to sport a couple of really pretty black eyes. Did you want something for the pain, or are you gonna stick to ibuprofen?”

“Ibuprofen. The prescription stuff messes with my ears too much.”

Bruce nods and extends the bottle. “Try to get some more sleep if you can. I’m going to go ahead and run your blood, Steve. I’ll let you know more come morning.”

~~~

Five hours of sleep aren’t enough when he isn't running on stress and adrenaline, Clint thinks as he sits huddled over his mug the following morning. It’s late and everyone else had been in and out, Tony’s crack about safe sex earning little more than a sleepy growl from the archer. 

After that comment, Bruce had come in and dropped a single print out to the table top, where a red circle hugged a 13%. He asked Clint to pass on the good news, ready for bed now that the night and his work was done. Now, as he waits for Steve to pass on the good news, he can’t help but feel relieved that it’s almost over.


	11. Screens and Screams

The battle rages across the better part of Central park and Steve watches as Hulk bats robots from the air with a huge oak he’s uprooted from somewhere. Its taken him nearly two months to get completely comfortable with the system but he still doesn't feel completely right. In his ear, the steady drone of Ironman's rant re: robots is spiraling ever onward, unchecked by Steve's reminders to keep the comm free of chatter. 

Hawkeye and Natasha chime in occasionally, offering just numbers and Steve hopes they correlate to robots destroyed or he and his boyfriend have some things to discuss. He knows he isn't giving the battle all of his focus, but his joints ache like they did when he had the flu (and even after all these years he still remembers just how miserable that was). Squeezing the back of his neck, he scans the feeds and notices a hole in the Avengers line that hasn't been managed and he can't see Thor or his feed, the screen having defaulted to CCTV when Thor's camera went off line.

"Anyone got eyes on Thor?"

He gets back a chorus of 'no's and leans forward, intending to grab the control pad and start scanning for their missing god. As his arm straightens and his fingers close around the plastic every muscle in his arm clamps down tight and Steve yelps over the comm line. 

His agony is transmitted to the rest of his team and Clint loses focus for a second. Natasha is close enough to cover his bobble, but calls to Ironman knowing full well that they need to end this.

"Ironman, Kill Box! Everyone else, hit the dirt, NOW”

Widow drags Hawkeye flat and sees Hulk and Thor both take to the air before a blinding wash of red cuts the remainder of the robots and several trees down where they stand. As she picks herself up and extends a hand to Clint, she winced when she sees at least one statue that'll never be the same. 

All of this happens in seconds and the rest of her team come together. Tony's got his face plate flopped open and he's rattling off vitals at hulk who has already started going soft and peach now that there's nothing more to smash or threaten. 

The sound coming through everyone's comms continue, building from yelps and whines until there is nothing but a steady stream of agony pouring into five sets of ears. Clint is still trying to get Steve to answer him and having no luck at breaking through the nearly continuous vocalization of something going terribly wrong. Steve's screams are still coming through the comms and Bruce is the first to crack, green tinged hands ripping the earpiece free, asking Tony if there is any way to mute it. He gets a grim head shake in return and Clint's already gone, desperate to get to where he needs to be. The rest of the Avengers head back as soon as they realize Clint's making a run for it, Tony scooping up Bruce while Thor wraps an arm around Natasha's waist before going airborne as well. 

It takes Clint longer to get to the tower than he had hoped and even his steady stream of encouragement and comfort wasn't enough. Steve had stopped screaming about half way home and the only thing that kept Clint from an all out meltdown was the rough sound of his breathing. Clint keeps talking as he darts around indifferent New Yorkers and threatens three taxis with his bow when they refuse to give him right of way. 

The last few blocks seem like they're getting proportionally longer and Clint wonders if Loki's screwing with the laws of physics again. The doors of Avenger tower are eventually right in front of him and Clint realizes his hands are shaking when he tries to pull the doors open and fails, clenching his fists against the tremble and trying again. From there it's a matter of patience as the elevator climbs to their floor and Steve.

Tearing open the door, Clint runs down the hallway toward the control room. As he draws nearer, he digs his pass card from his uniform and swipes it through the slot but instead of the reassuring chime and flicker of green light, he receives a warning flash of red and an angry sounding electronic bleat. He swipes the card again, receiving the same result, and growls in frustration before forcing himself to take a deep breath before trying again. 

Finally the swipe is accepted and he pulls the door open taking in the destruction of the room. Three of the monitors are smashed, one still spitting angry sparks and the keyboard and toggles that covered the dash are in pieces. Steve's chair is tipped on its side and Clint calls over the comm to Tony.

"Were there any breaches in tower security since we were last here?" The answer reverbs oddly and Clint glances over his shoulder to see Tony and Bruce already in the doorway. 

"Nothing showing up in JARVIS records, Why?"

Clint opens his mouth to respond but stops, seeing Steve’s fingers stretched just beyond the line of damaged hardware. Throwing himself forward, he barely registers the pain of his knees connecting with the floor as his eyes rake over Steve’s prone body. Something is off but it takes Clint long seconds to figure out what the disconnect is between what he’s seeing and what he’s expecting. 

When it finally clicks, all Clint can do is let out a startled sound and a single word.

"Steve?"


	12. Chapter 12

"Steve?"

As Clint reaches to touch the fallen man the door behind him slams and Clint turns, knife in hand. It's only Bruce and Clint turns away, slipping the blade back into its sheath. When his fingers finally touch Steve’s skin, he's taken aback at how cold it feels and he settles two fingers against the skin where Steve’s pulse should be thudding away. 

Should be, but isn’t. There’s nothing there.

Clint can’t feel that reassuring thump against his fingers and he freezes, not sure what to do. Could he really be gone? He survived seventy years frozen but this was too much? Did his injuries and illness during his regression make the serum ineffective? But he went super soldier again so the serum has to be working. Unless... Clint's mind races throwing out possible reasons that his lover, partner, boyfriend-- Steve wasn't breathing. 

Bruce’s shadow falls over Clint and his fingers pressing against the other side of Steve’s neck. The movement snaps Clint free from the fog crowding his mind and he turns to look at him. 

"We need to get his heart beating again. If I had to guess, and let’s face it it’s all guesswork at this point, the return to his altered state was triggered, but this time there wasn’t a Vita-Ray to keep him going. His body needs a reboot, if you’ll pardon the metaphor."

Clint’s mind lurches to life. "Like a jumpstart? Do we have an AED here?" 

"In the kitchen."

Clint runs to grab it, sliding across the slick tile. Finding it beside the first aid kit, Clint sends a quick prayer out in thanks for Steve’s preparedness and snatches it off the shelf before running back. Setting it by Steve he watches Bruce place the pads and charge it before warning Clint and pressing the button that fires the charge. Clint watches as the electricity races through Steve's muscles pulling his upper body into an arch. 

Bruce and Clint wait for the machine to reanalyze, the seconds creeping by. The second charge is equally ineffective and Clint starts to wonder how long Steve’s brain can remain undamaged without oxygen. When the machine indicates another charge is warranted, Bruce shocks Steve a final time. 

Third time lucky once more as Steve gasps and shudders in a deep gasp of air. Even his groan sounds amazing to Clint’s ears and he feels his spine go limp with relief, acknowledging that while fear might keep you standing, relief will knock you on your ass. When he feels a hand come up to cup his cheek, Clint opens his eyes and sees Steve looking back at him and it's all he can do to swallow down both the tears that make his vision waver and his desire to slam their mouths together, so incredibly thankful that he still has to have this amazing man in his life.

“Hi.” Steve’s voice is ragged, but his eyes are bright and Clint blinks, feeling moisture splash over the edges of his eyelids. When he speaks, his voice isn’t completely steady. 

“Let’s get you off the floor.” Clint gently pulls Steve into his arms, each man taking a moment to settle into a new configuration of skin and muscles and each other’s space. The ease that they’d accomplish the maneuver thanks to Steve’s reduced size is gone, but Clint couldn’t give a single fuck less that the returned weight and breadth of Steve is already making his legs a little numb as Steve curls precariously in his lap. 

Bruce smiles softly to himself as he detaches the wires from Steve's chest and makes himself scarce, closing the door softly behind himself. He looks at the three people gathered in front of him and smiles. "They're OK."

Back in the control room, Clint pushes his face into the space between Steve’s shoulder and throat, mouth so close to skin that Steve can feel it as Clint whispers, “Welcome home, Captain.”

Steve smiles, eyes closed. “Apparently, I never left. This incredibly stubborn man I know wouldn’t let me.”

“Really? Do I know him?” The lips are still right there and Steve’s newly returned serum infused body is quick to settle. Already the memory of how much the process hurt is fading into memory. Steve shivers as other aspects of his body start to perk up and Clint is still smarting off, though Steve would be hard pressed to recall what was being said.

Steve shuts him up the most effective way he knows. Nobody sees them until the following afternoon.


End file.
